


Drops of Blood

by Leni



Category: Black Jewels - Anne Bishop
Genre: Drabble Collection, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-04
Updated: 2011-12-04
Packaged: 2017-10-26 21:10:46
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,203
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/287952
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Leni/pseuds/Leni
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>50 drabbles. Snippets of the Blood's world up to Dreams Made Flesh.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Drops of Blood

**  
motion   
**

She extended her wings without warning, going further up. Alone. Unaided.

In control.

For months, she’d believed she’d never do this again. Never be fully Eyrien again. Now she sped towards the village, resolutely pushing herself to her limits.

Higher.

Faster.

“Marian!” Lucivar was at her side in a blink, only the span of their wings separating them. She slowed down instinctively, remembering too late that no male liked to be surpassed in flight. But he was laughing. “Race you to Merry’s, witchling!”

Trained warrior against hearth witch? “It’s unfair!” But oh, thank the Darkness for the chance to try.

 

 

 **  
cool   
**

Andulvar paced before his friend’s desk. “Daemon’s behavior is... worrying.”

“Daemon is my own mirror.”

“Of course.” And yet....

The Black Jewels. The snake tooth. The looks.

The blind attachment to Jaenelle.

Those similarities built the mirror, yes. And yet the sides weren’t the same: where the High Lord gently yielded to his daughter, Daemon mercilessly cleared all obstacles for her. Where Saetan grew proud when Jaenelle’s charm won another ally, Daemon quietly scratched an enemy from his list.

“Would you....?”

“I don’t need to.” The temperature suddenly dropped in the study - an effective reminder. “That’s what he’s here for.”

 

 

 **  
young   
**

Mephis sat in the library, enjoying a rare quiet moment. A moment that shattered as the Black approached ominously, with the Ebon-gray following suit.

Invisible hands pushed the door open. “Forget it, Prick!” Daemon’s roared testily. Lucivar was practically at his heels. “You’re the Consort, damn Bastard. _You_ can make her see how stubborn she’s being.”

Daemon hissed.

Mephis watched their power. Their unity. Not even he and Peyton had achieved this. And yet they still squabbled like children, down to the juvenile nicknames. “Stop it!”

Both pivoted toward him, surprised.

Mephis smiled. Damn, he’d missed being the older brother.

 

 

 **  
last   
**

A little girl had once shyly asked to ride him. Free laughter and new lessons. Hope sweet as fresh grass. For years, he’d raced on air only when he was carrying her.

Now that little girl was singing for the earth to welcome his body and the last of his power.

He didn’t have any regrets. He’d served his Queen for centuries, died defending her. He’d ruled Sceval with justice and kindness. He’d been honored to be the Lady’s first friend in the Shadow Realm, been the first to welcome Witch to Kaeleer.

Now she sang her goodbye.

How fitting.

 

 

 **  
wrong   
**

Nobody would say a word. It wasn’t even a whisper among the Blood, not a gossiped word among servants. It was a thought best left unsaid, something to look for deep in the eyes of worried Queens across Dhemlan.

They still remembered how the sun had vanished for whole days. The Council may have deserved it, for crossing the High Lord’s charge, but why make everyone suffer? Such a power, and she really couldn’t differentiate between ally and enemy?

What would happen next time she was displeased?

They looked at each other, so worried, but none would say the words.

 

 

 **  
gentle   
**

Falonar looked out of the window, watching Surreal kneel beside Graysfang to brush him more easily. They were having a conversation, he could tell by the way she smiled and moved her free hand to explain a point.

The scene in the garden made Surreal look soft, gentle. Approachable. The wolf looked as if he’d soon go to Kaelas for lessons in purring. He’d never captured such a moment between the sheets.

Then she met his eye. “Graysfang says _all_ my males need petting this morning.” She shouted. “You game?”

Falonar smiled in agreement, knowing he’d take what he could.

 

 

 **  
one   
**

One more night.

One more meal where bitch-Queens must be impressed, one more dance floor where they’d wish for more.

Daemon called in his trunk. A wine-red shirt with short sleeves that buttoned up to his chin, hiding what the shape of his arms gleefully hinted at. Custom-tailored pants, the material so soft it was a whisper against his skin.

He left aside the underwear.

Rising to his full size, he checked himself in the mirror.

Hayll’s whore. Dorothea’s toy. Queen Zabia’s pleasure slave for the last month.

One more night, and by dawn Zabia’s Court would be no more.

 

 

 **  
thousand   
**

“I promised, I promised,” she chanted to herself for the thousandth time.

Maybe Lucivar would understand if she went. A yearning as strong as his own, even more desperate. Jaenelle could almost feel the broken edges around it, the cracks that could split him open. That could split _both of them_ open.

No, Lucivar would never understand if she walked into the danger. No more wandering in Terreille, she’d promised. Not even to answer this call.

“I promised,” she whispered. “I’m so sorry.” Useless words, she well knew.

Far to the East, Daemon Sadi lost a little bit of hope.

 

 

 **  
king   
**

It never would have worked. Even if Dorothea had never threatened his brother, Daemon knew that the Territory he’d found was too savage to be a true help.

The Blood in it had grown weary of female power, understandable under the circumstances but at the same time they’d undermined their own chances. They’d wanted to make him their supreme leader and couldn’t understand that he didn’t wish for a kingdom. _Show me a strong Queen we can serve,_ he’d asked.

They’d laughed at him, called him a fool.

When Dorothea’s note arrived, he hadn’t regretted leaving them to their luck.

 

 

 **  
learn   
**

Khardeen dearly wished Jaenelle had any idea how world-shaking her ‘surprises’ were. A simple, so innocent, “Khardy, I have a surprise for you,” was _not_ enough warning before Lord Fogh’s bitch formally introduced herself. A Priestess, of all things! He’d held off as long as possible, his years in Jaenelle’s world allowing him to help prepare the brew for the Warlord instead of needing it himself.

Bad choice.

It started with a giggle. Morghan’s tracer must be a Warlord Prince, no wonder he was always out to nip Khardeen if he came too close. The giggle became a laugh, and he couldn’t stop it. He hadn’t even realized he was sitting in the middle of the road until Lucivar took him by his armpits. “Up with you, boyo.”

“I never expected this,” he said between deep breaths, back in control. He looked at Jaenelle. In her arms she carried the brown-spotted puppy, *Lady’s male hurt?* Khardeen managed to send a reassuring thought. Somehow. “How am I supposed to explain _this_ to Grandma?”

Lucivar palmed his back in sympathy. “Easily.” The Eyrien smiled at Jaenelle. She stepped back. “ _She_ explains.”

“Lucivar!”

Khardeen’s smile now mirrored Lucivar’s.

Jaenelle never had a chance.

 

 

 **  
blur   
**

Hallevar watched over the drill, young Eyriens defended their positions using their sticks. Soon they’d learn to use the blade - and the accidents would escalate. True accidents or animosities between the youngsters. Nasty bruises and broken bones.

With the blades....

His eyes shifted to the blur that was Yaslana. The boy was good; he assimilated the techniques and mixed them impressively. But he could be dangerous; his temper a thin thread easily plucked by the jeers aimed at him.

Give him a blade and it’d become a carnage.

But Hallevar couldn’t in good faith deny him his only defense.

 

 

 **  
wait   
**

Daemonar rolled his eyes as his friend refused again. “ _Orian_.” That it was the same tone as when he begged for an extra nutcake didn’t bother him. He wanted her company as much, maybe even more, than he wanted nutcakes. “Tassle’s mate says we can touch the pups now.”

The girl’s eyes widened as she opened her wings unconsciously. “Really, Mon?”

“It was supposed to be a surprise.” He shrugged. “Act surprised when Tassle tells you?”

Orian nodded as she quickly rose in the air.

“Then we can go explore?” he asked hopefully.

Orian smiled but didn’t answer.

Sneaky females!

 

 

 **  
change   
**

Lassora sensed something strange as her kitten entered the den. Living prey?

*She is Della.* KaeAskavi deposited the bundle at her feet. Then he hurried on, *My sire says the human-cat died protecting her from hunters.*

A request to respect that courage. Lassora sniffed the she-kitten, probed delicately with her Jewels. Satisfied when she found no taint, she nodded. *Make sure she’s warm. She has no fur to protect her.*

KaeAskavi curled around her, lending his own fur.

A human kitten in Lassora’s den. KaeAskavi keeping one curious paw in human affairs.

She hoped the Lady could explain it all.

 

 **  
command   
**

An imposing figure brimming with dark power. The last judge of the Blood. He was the High Lord of Hell.

Jaenelle Angelline’s adopted father. A tolerant man, ready to indulge his daughter and comically terrified of her antics.

“I don’t understand,” Dujae whined to his employer. The High Lord sighed and tried to explain his role, his _one_ role, again. Dujae still couldn’t reconcile the commander of Hell with the man who cringed when adolescent witches knocked on his door.

“You always understand your art,” the High Lord said meaningfully.

Dujae smiled slowly. “Of course.” Inspiration for a new portrait.

 

 

 **  
hold   
**

Tersa concentrated hard as she changed the baby’s diapers. Fold it here, tuck it there. Tighten it around his waist. No, not too tight. Alert golden eyes followed her movements. “That’s not helping,” she murmured.

“Saetan should hire a nursemaid.” Luthvian patted her belly. “In a week there’ll be double the trouble.”

Tersa shook her head and took the baby into her arms, forgetting the diaper.. “Need to stay close or he’ll go far, far away.”

“He isn’t even crawling, Tersa.”

Long black hair fell around the baby, shielding him from Luthvian’s eyes. Soon, a disjointed lullaby filled the room.

 

 

 **  
need   
**

Saetan watched his son carry a full tray. Golden eyes narrowed; he hadn’t seen his daughter since last day’s lunch. “I doubt Jaenelle thinks her moontime makes her weaker.”

“Hardly.”

“Be careful, Prince. You don’t want to smother her.”

Daemon laughed. “I’m sure she’s planning my demise right now. Or at least regretting her promise to play nice, if only for the first day.”

Neither mentioned how that promise had been secured.

“I’m...” Surprised. Impressed. Vastly amused. “...glad you’ll do whatever is necessary.”

A purely male look passed between them. Then they silently decided never to raise the subject again.

 

 

 **  
vision   
**

Asking for Jaenelle was futile; her Webs spoke gibberish at best. An emptiness so deep it scared even the most experienced Black Widow. It didn’t scare Karla, but in the end it was only another shape of silence. Useless silence.

Asking for a solution to Glacia’s problems was barely better. Morton’s letters tried to be uplifting and cheery, but Karla knew her cousin too well. The rift was growing with their uncle’s power base. And her vision stayed the same: herself locked in her room in the family state, with the key just beyond her fingertips.

She almost preferred silence.

 

 

 **  
attention   
**

Were separate dens a ritual in human mating?

No. They shared a den - a bed - just like Arcerian cats would.

Had the Lady picked the wrong Consort?

Ladvarian doubted it.

Didn’t the Consort know his duties?

The High Lord must have instructed his pup already.

Could he snarl if the Consort insisted in spending the nights away from the Lady?

Ladvarian couldn’t see anything wrong with the idea, as long as Kaelas was gentle with the Consort.

Kaelas stretched on the Consort’s bed. The Lady deserved a good mate’s complete attention, and tonight Kaelas would make sure she got it.

 

 

 **  
soul   
**

The first whisper that she’d finally arrived, ghost hands relieving him and erasing the scars. The gratitude. The sweet tendrils of power as he fell into sleep.

Meeting her. Participating in her games. Dark Dancer and that old tree.

She’d once come to his bedroom and ignored his mood, milked his snake tooth when he’d almost given it up.

Their first Winsol together. Hidden gifts and a kiss.

And he’d betrayed her.

 _*You are my instrument*_

He wandered further away from the memories, ripping his soul apart against the guilt. He’d loved her. He’d killed her.

 _*You are...*_

Hadn’t he?

 

 

 **  
picture   
**

It was waiting for her at their honeymoon’s return. “Oh, Daemon!” she gasped when she discovered it, picking it carefully as her smile deepened in remembrance. “I still can’t remember where I put that bracelet.”

Coming to a stand behind her, Daemon placed his arms around her, curling his hands on hers around the swivel frames. The old pictures of Saetan and Lucivar smiled back. “That Winsol is still one of my favorites.”

“After everything?”

“After everything.”

“We should get a picture together. For the new memories.”

He freed one hand to call in something. “I was hoping you’d ask.”

 

 

 **  
fool   
**

Lucivar gave Kaelas an angry glare, then lowered it to the Sceltie who’d placed himself between the large white paws. Smart Warlord. Even Lucivar’s infamous temper had to bend before eight hundred pounds of danger, but they still would listen to him this time.

“Did you even try to restrain Jaenelle before following her to Sceval?”

*The unicorns were in danger!*

Lucivar’s look sent Ladvarian deeper into hiding. “SO WAS JAENELLE ONCE SHE ARRIVED THERE!” At Kaelas growl, he took a calming breath. “Yes, I am aware an Arcerian Warlord Prince would have fought to the death. That’s exactly what I want to avoid.” He rubbed his temple, aware that threats were futile. “Don’t I deserve the chance to protect her?”

It worked. Contrite apologies reached him. Lucivar was about to accept them, when Ladvarian came out of hiding, tail wagging. “Next time, we call you!”

Lucivar blanched. Next time?

 

 

 **  
mad   
**

Saetan smelled the first whiff of trouble, and went into his study for sanctuary. No such luck. Twelve hours later, he was seriously considering visiting Hell.

Ten young witches under one roof - he should have seen this madness coming. The servants were in an uproar, the girls’ escorts rode the cold, and the girls themselves.... Being fully dependent on the males to brew the necessary moontime potions had them in an edgier mood.

“Uncle Saetan.”

“Yes, Chaosti.” The strongest among the boys, he looked pale now. “The coven.... All of them....” He gulped.

Hell, sweet Hell, Saetan thought wistfully.

 

 

 **  
child   
**

Gabrielle finished the spell, a second later she ran in delight to Jaenelle and hugged her. Using Craft, she placed the flower thread on her friend’s head. “They match your blue eyes.”

“What kind of flower is that?”

“That you are older does not mean you know everything, Warlord.”

The silver-haired children looked at each other worriedly at her tone. Chaosti bowed solemnly. “I apologize, Jaenelle.”

Gabrielle diffused the situation. “It’s my own creation.”

“Illusions only recreate reality,” the boy quoted their Craft lessons.

“Then you imagine it’s real,” Jaenelle reasoned.

Chaosti blinked at the idea, then smiled in understanding.

 

 

 **  
now   
**

Daemonar had friends now. Being closest in age, it was no wonder that the three Eyrien children became inseparable - at least once Orian learned to fly and Alanar got over his fear of, well, _everything_.

Only a couple years apart, the two boys flew into adventures fit for future heroes - until dinnertime, of course.

Now the three hovered over the forest, a boy on each side of Orian. “Three, two...” she counted slowly as she flew upwards to give them more space. “...one...” A deep breath. “Go!”

The prize for this race? Winner chose the setting for the next one.

 

 

 **  
shadow   
**

Wilhemina loved Scelt. The shadow that covered Terreille was absent here and, slowly, she learned to feel peaceful without Jaenelle at her side.

She’d even made friends. Morghan took time from her duties as Queen and mother for her visits. They’d trade stories of Jaenelle’s childhood, but they also discussed the future.

“There’s a position in my Second Circle.” Wilhemina forced herself not to spill her tea. Second Circle. An unexpected honor for a newcomer, regardless of her sister’s identity. “You need ties of your own,” the Queen explained patiently.

Her own ties. For the first time, that sounded perfect.

 

 

 **  
goodbye   
**

Graysfang wanted to nip Falonar. Surreal forbade it while she folded a gown. *I’ll be okay.*

Wasn’t she okay now? Graysfang showed his canines angrily.

“No!” She closed one trunk as she muttered about instinct-driven males. *You’ll especially _not_ nip him there.* “I warn you, Graysfang.”

He whined his protest, but submitted. Ladvarian had explained the difference between lovers and mates. *Don’t you want a ‘lover’ anymore?*

“Do _you_ want to be brushed again?” Female anger filled the room.

Graysfang saw the wisdom of leaving her alone. At the Hall, he’d ask Ladvarian for the difference between lovers and love.

 

 

 **  
hide   
**

The Ring of Honour helped him sense Jaenelle shield herself, but there was no sign of worry or anger passing along. Cautiously, he approached her location, hoping that the riddle had a reasonable solution this time.

She hid under a table in an upstairs room.

“Cat?”

“Shh!” *Kaelas and I play hide-and-seek*

That almost made sense. *And you also shielded the room across the hall because...?*

*I needed a distraction.*

Everyone walked in eggshells around Kaelas, but she knowingly placed herself as prey _and_ teased feline hunting instincts. “Of course,” he muttered.

He left before his headache could get worse.

 

 

 **  
fortune   
**

Mephis sagged into the chair and closed his eyes tiredly. “Karla wants to go shopping...”

Saetan steeled himself.

“...and half the coven has agreed to go with her.”

Hell’s fire! “Can I hope she’ll take them to Glacia?”

“Not a chance. Remember that time I took Jaenelle to the opera?”

What Saetan remembered was a fortune spent in books and a stream of merchants pressing for an appointment. Merchants who’d now see a young Dea al Mon Queen in the flesh, and all the trade possibilities she represented.... “Should I fortify the study’s doors?”

“Before or after your escape attempt?”

 

 

 **  
ease   
**

Graysfang put his snout on her thigh in silent peace offering. *Prince Smoke says I’ll be welcome in the pack when you get growly.*

Surreal blushed, then petted Graysfang’s head. Daemon still had the knack to make her furious without trying, and her poor wolf had born the consequences. *We’ll do walkies after breakfast.*

Placating her own temper wasn’t as easy. She loved Daemon, he and Jaenelle did everything to make her feel welcome. But the Hall was _theirs_ , just like the Amdarh townhouse.... *How would you feel about a house of our own?*

The pleased howl was answer enough.

 

 

 **  
ghost   
**

Jaenelle said she’d introduce her to a couple friends. Right. Such an understatement! “Girls, this is Marian.” The ghost of past humiliations seized Marian, and she self-consciously patted down her dress. Should she curtsy to the Territory Queens? “She works for Lucivar.”

A high-pitched squeal. A spiky-haired witch rushed to her and took her hands. “Oh, this is wonderful. Isn’t this wonderful?”

Marian stepped back carefully.

Jaenelle chuckled. “Karla, you are scaring her.”

Blue eyes widened innocently. “Am I? Oh poor dear.” She patted Marian’s hand and winked. “Kiss kiss. Now come and let me tell you about your boss....”

 

 

 **  
book   
**

Daemon smiled in relief when he saw the witchlight under the library door. “Jaenelle?”

Sapphire eyes turned toward him. She lowered her book to grant his share of attention. Daemon felt a tug deep inside, a true Queen always knew when her males needed her. He sat beside her, reaching out to place his hand close to hers.

She covered his palm with her two little hands. “Have you ever ridden an unicorn, Prince?”

Yes, a dream. After hours of servicing Alexandra, this new dream was exactly what he needed. “Will you let me ride with you?”

Jaenelle smiled. “Soon.”

 

 

 **  
eye   
**

After a month in Challiot, Daemon wished to always see himself through Jaenelle’s eyes. A valued friend, her partner in card games, a fellow animal lover.... A prospect for a young woman’s love. But then he’d see the darkness inside Witch, and he understood that only the cruel edge of the Sadist could match her.

“We are what we are, Prince.”

He caressed the side of her face with a loose petal. “Wouldn’t you change me?”

“Never!” Her eyes found his. “ _You_ came looking when I didn’t answer your call. No one else did. Why would I want something different?”

 

 

 **  
never   
**

Karla felt a heaviness in her heart when she finally ordered to empty Morton’s quarters. She’d been distracted during Terreille’s attacks and, she knew now, she’d secretly hoped that her demon-dead cousin would agree to return. Foolish, of course, but - to never see him again?

Never share their enthusiastic plans for Glacia. Never hear his hopes and dreams. Never dance together, ride together, laugh together. Never again see him roll his eyes when Karla had an impressively exceptional idea.

“Oh, Morton.” She bit her lip. “I’d never exasperate you again.”

But he wasn’t there to laugh at the infeasible offer.

 

 

 **  
sing   
**

Nobody loved the Jewels more than him. Where the Blood saw untapped power, Banard admired their shape, their gleam, their potential for beauty....

Twilight’s Dawn made his mouth water and his heart thump wildly.

“Lady Angelline.” He’d never asked for anything, never dared something like this. “I am glad to see you in person at last,” he choked out, still mesmerized by the colors that chased each other in the Jewel. “May I...?”

His blood sang when she nodded. And when his fingers touched stone, ah.... “Thank you, Lady. _Thank you_ ” Banard wasn’t surprised to feel tears in his eyes.

 

 

 **  
sudden   
**

Daemonar loosened from his mother’s grasp as he felt a curious presence further inside the house. As he ran toward the source, he could hear his mother nervously apologizing to Lady Dorian as she hurried after him.

A small boy could comfortably do inside a house what grownups could not: fly. He flew from room to room until, finally, he stopped to a quiet hover above a crib. “Baby...” he whispered. He grinned. “Bab-!”

“Get away from my sister!”

An older boy crashed against him, sending both to the floor.

“Sweet Darkness....” Mother wasn’t pleased.

“Alanar!”

Baby started to cry.

 

 

 **  
stop   
**

“That’s enough, Sadi. Please.” She arched her back against that ghostly touch, wishing she could finally feel his real fingers against her skin. “ _Please_.”

“Open you eyes.”

She shook her head, aware that the view would be the same as last night, and the night before that.

“Now, Vera,” he purred.

Disobedience wasn’t an option at that tone. He rewarded her by tuning his spell into a teasing feeling a millimeter above her skin. Meanwhile he stood languidly against her bedpost, eyes bored as he manipulated those invisible hands. “Bastard,” she cried.

In a flash, everything stopped.

“No!”

He smiled.

 

 

 **  
time   
**

Titian kept stirring the stew, unafraid of this witch’s sudden entrance. “You have good timing, Tersa. You’ll like this.”

“Green calls.” Tersa held up her hand, showing a thin blade of grass around her too thin wrist.

“It’s time,” Titian translated. Surreal would be thrilled about her Birthright Ceremony. “The Green.” She smiled, satisfied. “She won’t break easily.”

“She’ll shield her inner webs, yes. And who’ll shield her?” Black hair was pushed behind her ears. “But the moon has ways, right Titian?” Then she sniffed the air. “Mmm, stew.”

“Have some, Sister.” Titian looked thoughtful. “And thanks for the warning.”

 

 

 **  
wash   
**

“I’m going to smell like roses,” Daemon complained even as he put his hand in Jaenelle’s reach.

“It wasn’t my idea to bathe together,” she responded. She carefully passed the sponge around each finger. “And it’s lavender.”

“Roses. Lavender. Lucivar won’t let me live it down anyway.” A slender shoulder came within kissing range. He stared. “Frankly, my idea didn’t go this far.”

Jaenelle laughed and settled snugly against his chest. “Mmm, I’d say you still aren’t thinking of much else.”

“Complaints?” He turned her around so they’d face each other.

The sponge fell back into the water. “Not one.”

 

 

 **  
torn   
**

“I’m going to make the Offering to the Darkness...”

Witch had played by the rules before. She’d given them everlasting night to realize their mistake, but had given it back.

If they insisted to put a wall in her way, Witch wouldn’t play along anymore.

“...and set up my court.”

A part of her wailed at the idea. Jaenelle Angelline could still have what the Queen of Ebon Askavi would be denied: an ordinary life. But the bloodshed in Sceval demanded a reaction; she couldn’t let harm come to any of the Blood.

May the Darkness help these fools now.

 

 

 **  
history   
**

She’d been the strongest witch in the history of the Blood. She was still the Queen of Ebon Askavi in all but name.... She laughed as the unicorn colt chased her.

“Jaenelle has made a full recovery,” Morghan remarked conversationally.

Daemon nodded. “She loves Scelt. Staying at her country house makes her happy.”

“Moonshadow mentioned you sent the invitation yourself.”

He shrugged.

“She also said that Mistral has agreed to leave Lutien in Maghre. For as long as Jaenelle will have him.”

 _That_ got a reaction. Daemon watched the rambunctious colt run rampant in the garden. “Mother Night.”

Morghan smiled.

 

 

 **  
power   
**

The Jewel proudly displayed on the man’s chest was a dead giveaway of his identity. Only two males wore the Black, and the High Lord seldom came to Dhemlan anymore. The Black also shone from one ring, and his only other adornment, a plain ring on his right hand, was to many witches the most threatening of all.

The meaningful invitations and coy looks Prince Sadi could have once forgiven, the husband was implacable about.

“Why are they staring?” Jaenelle brought her hand uncertainly to Twilight’s Dawn.

Daemon led her deeper into the dance floor. “Don’t worry about it, sweetheart.”

 

 

 **  
bother   
**

Surreal welcomed her Dea al Mon kin. Gabrielle kissed her cheek and announced she'd go upstairs to check on Jaenelle. “We’ve been worried ever since Lucivar called for a Healer,” Chaosti explained.

“Will you stay until the wedding?” Chaosti looked at her sharply. No, he wouldn’t bother to exchange platitudes with her. ”I’m _fine_ , Chaosti.”

“Lucivar and I had a talk about his second-in-command.”

Surreal sucked in breath.

“And he compelled me to see you before taking any decisions.”

 _Smart Eyrien._ “And now?”

He bowed before motioning her to accompany him to Jaenelle’s sitting room. “I’ll trust your wisdom, cousin.”

 

 

 **  
god   
**

Within minutes, Khardeen had spread the message through a spear thread. While Aaron served a cup of the best wine, one by one the other males took their places around Daemon. Finally came Lucivar, an amused tilt in his lips. “So, Bastard. Khary says you’ve saved the Court males from another night of utter embarrassment.”

Daemon sipped the wine, shrugged. “As long as the coven doesn’t discover a counter maneuver as we speak.”

Chaosti called in the game board and cards. “Then we should learn it as soon as possible.” Everyone, even Lucivar, nodded eagerly, sweet vengeance in their eyes.

 

 

 **  
wall   
**

Lucivar could feel the walls building around Daemon as he approached his brother. “Sulking by yourself?”

“It’s part of the definition of ‘sulking’.” Daemon put his arm over his eyes. “Go away, Prick. Father has already tried to cheer me up, said Jaenelle didn’t _mean_ to throw me out of her room.”

“Oh, she meant it.” He laughed at Daemon’s expression. “Cat likes giving males a hard time, especially if they are fussing without reason.”

“The spell exploded in her face!”

“And she shielded herself and Gabrielle immediately.”

Daemon sighed. “I didn’t see Gabrielle snarling at Chaosti when _he_ fussed.”

 

 

 **  
naked   
**

Ebon Rih agreed: Daemonar Yaslana had become a little hellion with wings. Not long ago, life had been quiet around the Prince’s eyrie... until an Eyrien toddler discovered the joys of open skies... and shared it with his friends.

Three winged figures shot above the roofs, wind-muffled laughter reaching the streets. Villagers chuckled, wondered how long it’d take the Prince to catch the little miscreants.

A larger shadow came next, leisurely giving pursuit. “Daemonar!” he called. “Orian! Alanar!” Children’s laughter was the only answer.

Unseen to all, a proud smile played on Lucivar’s lips as he chased his naked son.

 

 

 **  
drive   
**

“I love you.” Jaenelle smiled up at his words. “But you’ll yet drive me completely crazy.”

Marian hid her smile behind her hand.

Muttering darkly, Daemon cleaned the mess.

Marian walked to her disappointed sister-in-law and passed an arm comfortingly around her waist. “You’ve made progress, Jaenelle. Don’t let an impatient, rude _male_ ruin your fun.”

Daemon took a deep breath. “My apologies, Ladies,” he said courteously. He took his wife’s hand and started his explanation from the top.

Marian was glad she’d agreed to lend her kitchen. Jaenelle _was_ making progress, and it was good to see her happy.

 

 

 **  
harm   
**

“Are you sure Father would’ve approved?”

“Papa knows how much I wanted to do this.” She gave him an indulgent look. “He’ll probably be relieved a trained Eyrien finally taught me.”

Lucivar had a _very_ bad feeling. “Cat? Have you asked to dive from a mountain’s peak before?”

“Ever since my tenth birthday,” she confirmed. “But Andulvar disappears if I ask, and Prothvar flatdown refused. I’m so lucky you came!”

“I’m dead.” He narrowed his eyes at the wet girl. “After the High Lord is done skinning me alive, I’m giving you a walloping worth remembering.”

Jaenelle gulped. “Kiss kiss?”

 

 

 **  
precious   
**

The First Circle had relocated to Nharkhava for the summer. For the last six days the coven had tirelessly tended to Kalush, doing their best to make their Sister comfortable. The boys had pulled ranks around Aaron, brewing fortifying potions and reassuring him that the threat of divorce was just Kalush’s frustration talking.

Everyone worried except Jaenelle. If the baby took a week beyond the Healers’ calculations, then the baby had her reasons for it.

“Today is the longest day,” Kalush murmured as she presented newborn Arianna to her father.

Aaron caressed the small forehead. “Way to make an entrance.”

 

 

 **  
hunger   
**

Her body was finally answering her orders. She could sit upright without hurting her back, she could hold a book without tiring her arms. She could wish for Daemon’s touch traveling along her waist, for his hands threading with hers, for his body above hers.

Flashes of nights past had assaulted her for days now, the empty space beside her a sharp contrast with her memories.

Once, she’d kissed him as an invitation. Now she couldn’t bring herself to repeat it. The body may answer her orders, but it was a far cry from her wishes...

...and therefore, from his.

 

 

 **  
believe   
**

Daemonar opened his wings and flapped them a little. Seated before him, Orian clapped and laughed. “Mon!”

He furrowed his nose. His mother had explained that Orian was too little to say his name. She was also too little to use her wings. Booooring. With Alanar sick this week, Daemonar only got one playmate. If only she’d fly already.... He’d let her call him ‘Mon’ forever if they could go play outside _now_.

Five minutes later he was pulling his mother towards the nursery. “Look, mom. Look!”

Marian gaped in disbelief.

Near the ceiling, Orian clapped and laughed. “Mon! Mon!”

 

The End  
20/01/08


End file.
